Remaining Love
by S'The.wolF
Summary: One-shot; Arthur met a spirit of Jeanne d'Arc in France. He hated to admit that she was the only one who made him this guilty. It wasn't because he loved Francis, not at all. He was just curious why she loved Francis that much... too much she could die for. Fr/UK , France/Jeanne d'Arc


**- Remaining Love -  
**

France x UK ; France x Jeanne d'Arc ; Slash

I've got to say again that English is not my native language, but yes, I still want to write it. I keep practicing, tough. So sorry for any mistakes you see and feel free to correct them. Your comment would be perfect for me to improve my writing!

Thank you for your reading!

P.S. I do not own APH and their characters.

* * *

– _Have you ever hated someone so much it almost drives you insane? –_

* * *

Arthur swore, if it weren't a work, he wouldn't step on this land. EVER.

People around the world might spend everything they had to be here on a vacation. Everything they wanted could be found here: history, arts, beauties, everything. Arthur was tired of the boast but he had to admit that there was a truth lying in those narcissistic brags.

The Englishman started to feel bad after he crossed the sea to the main land. It was near, too near. In fact, it was the nearest country and that Frenchman was the nearest man that stayed by his side. He just realized at that second that he shouldn't be here. He didn't belong here at all.

Goddamnit. He hated to be here.

Arthur screamed silently, echoed his detest feeling inside his heart. He hated it all. Everything that was owned by the Franks was too good to be true. There was a sea, and yes, mountains, rivers, warmth, arts, culture, and… and just everything. That land of love got all the advantages that he couldn't compare with. Of course, that was the main reason why Arthur wanted to beat him up so bad.

He wasn't jealous. He meant it, he swore.

Arthur sighed when he reached the capital. The Englishman stopped once the Eiffel Tower appeared to his sight, along with that clear blue sky above. He didn't like that iron tower. Francis might be proud of it now, but at first, he hated it either. That goddamn tower was the first thing people had in their mind when they talked about France, and that was enough for Arthur to hate it.

If he had to be here longer than a minute, he'd be insane for sure.

Shit.

* * *

– _Have you ever missed someone so much you could die? –_

* * *

Francis wasn't in Paris.

Arthur went right to his house but there was no one home except a maid. She told him that Francis was out since it was his free time of the day – out to somewhere Arthur didn't want to go most. He noted that he'd kick that guy's ass once they met. Why did he have to bring these paper works to Francis, who was taking his time relaxing, or may be flirting with a girl somewhere?

He kept telling himself it was no fair. No fair at all.

But then again… Why did he have to come here every time they had a contract? Why did he still bother coming here since he hated Francis so much he want to kill him?

He felt something twisted inside his heart, and yes, not in a good way.

The maid told him that Francis was going south. Arthur went down until he reached Orleans. Arthur couldn't help but stopped for a while, no matter if Francis was there or not.

Someone was staring at him.

He heard a soft giggle, coming with the wind that cut his skin beneath the jacket. Arthur wasn't too sure which direction it came from, but sweetness in that voice made him look around to find the source of the sound. He couldn't just ignore it.

He made his way through the crowd on the street. Since he was a soul of the land, no one could saw him when he didn't want anyone to see his appearance.

Except that _statue_.

The tourist was capturing tons of pictures of a girl statue on a horse, but no one paid attention to another white figure on the ground nearby. That surprised Arthur. He had no idea why that little statue was being ignored since she was the same person with the one on the horse. She was wearing a long white robe like a saint, sitting with her knees up to her chest. Her hair was in between brown and blonde and her skin was almost white, must be a marble, Arthur assumed.

Why did they ignore this fantastic piece of art? He thought that soft smile on her face was far more beautiful. In fact, that was the _most_ beautiful smile he had ever seen on a sculpture.

Suddenly, the white statue stood up.

Arthur realized at the same time. Okay, so she wasn't a sculpture.

He closed his eyes while taking a deep breath. Trying so hard to ignore what he just saw as he had done all the way from Paris. The trace that even Arthur never wanted to realize, he still knew…

Everywhere she had passed, Francis treasured them.

He always did, and always will do…

Someone stepped closer to him silently while he still kept his eyes shut. Arthur sighed. He could tell without seeing who was standing right next to him.

"What are you doing, Joan?"

"You can see me?"

She asked back with a smile, wider than before. The Englishman grunted as shaking his head slightly, wiping his own thought away. This wasn't the first time he felt someone was eyeing at him, but this was the first time he talked with her.

Somehow, Arthur was a bit confused. Francis had told him about a girl he met a while ago. She was an American tourist but surely was _her_ – the one and only that Francis loved and Arthur had killed. She was still the same – pure and innocent – in the way she had always been even if she had forgotten everything about her last life…

Then what about the one in front of him?

"I thought your spirit has gone."

Arthur slipped a question that made the girl giggled.

"She has already gone."

"Then what are you?"

"Love."

This time, Arthur made his way to look straight into her eyes.

"What did that bastard teach you? Where did you get that phrase from?"

"You mean François?" The girl shook her head. "He didn't do anything."

Arthur bit his lower lip before he decided to change the topic, knowing that she wouldn't answer him.

"Why did you stare at me?"

"Why not? I don't dislike you after all." Her voice was sweet and pleasant, and damn it, Arthur hate that. "I don't care about what we have been through. It was done, right? I don't have enough space for any hatred."

"Why not?" He asked her with the same question. "You're a spirit. I know there are many spirits that live in peace, but not you… Spirits from wars only live for a revenge and hatred, I know them."

"Don't stereotype me. I'm not such a spirit."

"Then _what_ are you?"

"_Amour_," A short answer then an explanation, "_Amour_ that still lives on this world… _Amour_ that was given to this land, to this country, and to François since back then. It still remains until now – until there's no more François I love."

Arthur cursed out loud without reason, frowning as if he heard something wrong.

"Why do you love that bastard this much… too much?"

He asked before he had even thought. That annoying feeling twisted inside him again. Joan of Arc – or Jeanne d'Arc in French pronunciation – was the main reason for this guilty feeling he never wanted to admit. He never hated her but he hated the man she loved, and Arthur couldn't find a good enough reason for loving that bastard.

What Jeanne d'Arc remained looked back at him with such surprise.

"You should have known already," she said, "The reason why everybody in your country love you so much they could die."

* * *

– _Have you ever loved someone so much you almost stop breathing? –_

* * *

Francis wasn't in Orleans. Jeanne d'Arc's love giggled again and told him to go to Rouen, somewhere he left his sin behind.

By the time he reached there, he smelled smoke.

The wind blew hard, freezing his body and even his heart. It grabbed the cigarette smoke along then smashed it in his face. Arthur choked, fanned documents in his hand against the bitter smoke. He had smoked before – cigars, cigarettes, or even opium – but it didn't last long. He stopped those kinds of habit a while ago, whereas Francis obviously didn't.

The soul of France stood still by the river Seine. It was already dusk, changing the sky into an orange sheet, mix with tea rose, up to indigo just like a beautiful oil painting.

Arthur stopped, looking at Francis as he inhaled another shot of smoke into his lungs.

"Why you're not dead because of cancer yet, shit."

He snapped out. Francis turned his head back in surprise, raising one of his eyebrows up.

"Am I drunk?"

"Nobody's drunk, idiot." Arthur snarled as he walked closer then pushed his documents into the other's chest. Francis took them in his hand then blinked.

"Didn't my maid tell you that this is not my work time?"

"She did."

"I see." Francis laughed, he should have known, right? "You're such a brat. Dragging yourself this far just because of work? Such a pain in the ass."

"Sign. Your. Name. Idiot."

"No need to be hurry, kid. Let me read it first," He uttered, even so, he still picked a pen up to sign his name on that paper within a glance.

"I've no idea you still smoke."

Arthur asked with a sharp voice while waiting, but all Francis did were smile again and shrugged.

"This?" He shook his head, dropped the ash on the grass before he stamped on it. "I only smoke when it's too lonely. Human life's shorter than a cigarette, tough."

Arthur frowned.

"I've warned you not to love human. Ever."

"But you got married with human."

"Hey! She was an excepti––"

"Then what about England's Rose?"

Arthur shut his mouth immediately. Francis grinned as the younger man glared at him. He felt a night wind touching his skin, but God, those green orbs were colder than the breeze.

"Give back my work. I'm gonna leave."

"What's with that unromantic way of talking, huh?" Francis rolled his eyes, knowing that the kid could hear his complaint and he was unexpectedly amused with it. "Heartless."

"Just shut up, you frog," Arthur growled, certainly in a bad mood, "I don't care about that _romantic_ kind of things and I don't wanna see any love," His voice trembled a bit, "Especially when it comes from you."

"See? How could you see love?" Francis asked back in a heartbeat. "You can see other's love, I supposed. But when it comes to you, all you can do is feel it, baby."

That stunned Arthur.

May be that's why he never saw any love remained on his land – love from someone who loved him they could die…

His heart throbbed.

"You… feel it…?"

Arthur's voice was nothing but an unsteady whisper as if he didn't even sure what he was talking about. Francis chuckled. This kid was cute when he was breaking down.

"Of course I can. I know who loves me," Francis replied slowly, "And I know who I love."

"Love, huh?" Arthur shook his head, trying his best to keep calm, "How many times have you take this word seriously?"

"Only once," With a laughter, "with her."

Frenchman stated himself so easily as he was talking about something simple such as a weather. Arthur was stunned again. An invisible knife cut through his throat and his heart by the time he couldn't find any hatred in that gentle, deep voice... Francis' word of love was too easy for him to believe... but Arthur knew that he just said the fact that nobody could objected.

He loved her for real.

Why did he ask, anyway? He didn't even want to know it, shit.

"I- I'm gonna leave."

Arthur announced. Francis nodded, not even tried to stop or ask for him to stay.

"Then leave. I don't wanna see your face to begin with."

"As if I want!"

His last word was tough. Arthur blamed himself for coming here. There was no good to come here, never, but he still didn't know why he always came.

The older man smirked while keeping cigarette smoke into his lungs. He reached out his hand, grabbed on the neighbour's arm and tugged him into his chest. His other hand dropped the cigarette down to the ground then locked the one in his arms by the nape of his neck.

Those emerald green eyes shuddered when they saw a deep blue sea within an inch. Francis leaned in more, so close that he could feel the boy's warm breath touching his own.

Arthur's heart almost stopped.

Then the smoke was spurted out – right into his face!

"**What the hell–!?"**

He almost screamed. His cheeks flushed like hell after a hard cough. His eyes were all red and wet because of that strong smelled gas. Francis laughed, catching the fist before it could punch his face. Then he pulled the boy's waist closer, buried his lips into the forehead.

"If you don't know, just in case," He whispered gently, "I hate you."

Arthur blushed again. This time wasn't because of the smoke for sure. He tensed as Francis dragged his lips down below to reach his own. All he could do was stand still, waiting for the gap to be closed…

Francis pressed his lips against Arthur's softly while whispering without any sound,

"…_Hate you so much I could stop breathing…"_

Arthur closed his eyes.

He heard a sweet laughter within the wind around them, sinking deep into his heart. He felt it now… just the way Francis had told him before…

Oh, damn it.

"…I hate you too, idiot…"

* * *

**A/N: **I love smoking France... He's hot this way, don't you think? XD


End file.
